


Roses

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: In Our Bones [4]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, angst angst angst, down the trash chute once again, nightmare trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: The book clatters to the ground as her grip loosens,  feet spinning to face him and horror locking her spine in place as a sort of devastated, betrayed look flashes through Cassian’s eyes.“Cass—”There is no time for words as he stalks towards the balcony, throwing himself off of it without a glance back.-The penultimate story of the In Our Bones AU, with even more nightmare trope and some real angst.(Must read rest of series first)





	Roses

**Author's Note:**

> quite honestly, i thought i was done with this au.  
> guess not.  
> here we goooooooooooo

 

_Watching the roses wither away_

_Wishing my memories would die out the same_

 

* * *

 

Somedays, it hits her harder than others.

Somedays, Nesta’ll wake up and he’ll be the last thing on her mind. The birds will chirp and the smell of snapdragons will invade her senses, slowly bringing her into consciousness with a post-war gentleness that relaxes her into some sort of a pleasant mood before she spots the apples kept on the dining table, deflating her almost instantaneously.

Somedays, Nesta’ll wake up screaming, another twisted version of his death playing in her mind, only woken by Cassian shaking her shoulders and calling her name. The stars will shine mockingly and the strong scent of night-jasmine will flow in through the opened window, permeating her dulled senses as she cries into the Illyrian’s shoulder.

Sleeping doesn’t come easy now, not even before the mornings where she wakes peacefully. She spends most of her hours in the outdoor training arena, fighting against an invisible opponent in hopes that she’ll tire herself out enough to fall asleep, even if it’s on the arena in her training leathers. Her muscles are strong and her figure healthy after months of training, learning new skills from Cassian that she hadn’t even known existed from her time with… him. 

Once, she’d tried asking Feyre about why the effects of the bargain seem to linger, to haunt her even as she readily tries to move on. Her youngest sister had only been able to supply one possible answer, and it had scared her so greatly that she’d immediately shut it down and shoved the thought into the backmost corner of her mind. If she succumbed to it, she was afraid that she wouldn’t recover this time—at all. 

Cassian helps, or, at least, he tries. It’s not much, but what was once biting insults has turned into underlying concern and some sort of begrudged mutual respect. She no longer has it in her to hate him, to despise him the way she once had. Her heart is still a wasteland and she refuses to let him back in as she rebuilds, but… perhaps one day. 

“Not training today?”

Nesta doesn’t even bother to look over her shoulder at him, flipping the page of her book. “Didn’t realize I had to.” Her tone lacks the sting it once possessed.

“I was looking forward to introducing you to double-sworded combat. Watching you almost slice your hand off the first time I gave you some Illyrian steel was fun.”

“Liar,” she sings, “you mothered me like a hen. It was almost endearing.” 

“Let’s see how  _ endearing _ you think I am once you get in the training area with me.”

A Siphon-backed hand closes the book she’s reading, forcing her to look up and meet blue eyes.

No. Not blue. Hazel.

She blinks twice, looking away for a moment to clear her head. These moments don’t happen as often as they once had, and she wishes they’d stop completely. She was ready to move on. She didn’t want constant reminders anymore. All they did was hurt.

When she finally looks back up at the overgrown bat, his brows are furrowed the slightest bit—that overbearing concern she’d grown accustomed to at this point everpresent. 

“Where’d you go?” Cassian murmurs, undoubtedly not meant for her ears. Nesta had yet to tell him that, sometimes, she’d mistake him for another, only differentiated by red stones and broad wings. 

No part of her wants to see the self-blame he’ll lay on himself—some utter bullshit about how he’s the one hindering her healing with himself as a constant reminder. It’d backtrack all the progress they’d made and, well, Nesta could use an ally, even if it’s only a tentative one.

She stands so swiftly that he nearly falls back, wings flaring to keep him from doing so. With a twist of her heel, she’s walking away, trying to shake away the onslaught of images and memories that will keep her awake long into the night if she allows them to. She only makes it to the doorway. 

“Nest—”

“Not now, Fionn.” 

The book clatters to the ground as her grip loosens,  feet spinning to face him and horror locking her spine in place as a sort of devastated, betrayed look flashes through Cassian’s eyes.  

“Cass—”

There is no time for words as he stalks towards the balcony, throwing himself off of it without a glance back.  

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t see him for a week. 

According to her meddling sister, the Commander had, in his nature, commandeered the townhouse for himself, shutting out anyone who tried to get in. Her brother-in-law had made an ill-timed joke about how his brother hadn’t locked himself up since the three of them used to get drunk at the cabin. No one had laughed.

All Nesta can do is pace restlessly and read, though the former happens far more often. Amren takes her under her wing a few hours a day under the guise of figuring out what the destruction of the Cauldron had done to her powers, but Nesta knows that she’s just trying to distract her. It’s a gesture she appreciates from the remade High Fae, even if it’s poorly executed.

But Amren isn’t the one she wants to see.

Still, her stubbornly misplaced pride refuses to give in. Or maybe it’s no longer pride, but fear—fear that she’s lost the only stability that had centered her after his death. Cassian had become her rock, a constant that kept her from the rushing of the riptide that was her memories. 

There was no reasoning for calling him another name, at least, not one that she could feasibly think of. There was no insult to throw at him, no defense against her shame and horror. If she lost him, it’d be no one’s fault but her own. 

Perhaps the guilt is what triggers it.

 

_ She kneels in a stone throne room, magic and hands both bound. A sovereign stands before her, two figures on their knees before them. King, Queen, there is no difference. Blue eyes stare at her determinedly. Red stones lack the glow of raw power. _

_ There are daggers at their throats. _

_ “Choose.” _

_ All she can do is gasp and plead, begging and begging and begging. _

_ “Choose.”  _

_ I’ll give you anything. Anything. Please don’t hurt them. Please. _

_ I’m begging. Isn’t this what you want? I’ll give it all back. _

_ “Choose.” _

_ Let them live. Let them live. Let them go.  _

_ A sigh of disappointment, and then those daggers move, slicing open skin and— _

 

Nesta gasps into consciousness, shoving off the hands on her shoulders and stumbling out of bed, sweat dripping into her eyes as cries of pain slip from her throat, the perspiration too much like water and suddenly she can’t breathe and she’s drowning all over again, water filling her lungs and choking her breath and breathing something new, something  _ other _ into her.

“Nesta.”

Which one? She can’t tell the difference anymore. They blur together.

“Sweetheart.”

“Cassian?” She chokes, hands feverishly raking through her loose hair. She can’t stop shaking. Why can’t she stop shaking?

A hand reaches slowly into her peripheral, a familiar, red stone on the back. Glowing. Filled with power. Not empty. Not powerless.

“I got you. I’m here.”

The hand rests on her shoulder lightly, the presence somehow just as suffocating as it is liberating. Her feet give way underneath her. 

He catches her in that effortless way of his, arms wrapping around her to keep her upright. Her hands dig into the fabric of his shirt, but she swears to the Cauldron that her fingers fit into the grooves of battle leathers and that he’s leaving her and oh Mother she can’t let him leave why did she ever let him lea—

“Breathe.” 

Cassian takes deep breaths and she mimics him, attempting to slow the pace of her heart. A hand brushes comfortingly up and down her back, calloused fingers gliding right over the silk nightgown. It never occurs to her how scandalous this is. 

Tears cascade down her face in neverending waves, hidden in the fabric of the shirt he must’ve worn to bed. She doesn’t know how he’d known she was in such distress from all the way across Velaris, but she can’t find it in herself to care. He’s here. He’s alive. There is no gaping wound in his throat, no magic binding together his limbs. Free. Alive. Tangible. Real.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. There’s nothing else to say. Still, he comes to her rescue even when she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve him. “I’m sorry.”

The words flow out of her over and over again, until she knows no words but those two. There are no other words for her to say, not any that will justify or aid. All she has left to offer is her pride, however ruined it may be.

All she gets in reply is a gentle shushing and a pair of arms sweeping her up. It’s achingly familiar—if she focuses hard enough, there is a thunderstorm outside and the arms that carry her are ink-stained. But he’s gone. Gone. Cassian isn’t. 

She tries to let go. Of him. For him. 

He moves to set her back down on her bed, and she lets him, falling into the cushions that seem entirely too soft and too empty. There should be someone else beside her. She can’t be alone. Not now. 

She latches onto his wrist before he can jump out her window like a thief in the night again, halting him in his steps. His silhouette turns back to face her, features impossible to make out even with the moonlight. 

“Stay?”

The question is weak, croaked from her weary throat. Her head already begins to pound with the ache she knows will settle itself in the morning. 

His inner turmoil is almost palpable in the air. It’s unfair of her to ask him after the insult she’d laid upon him. The battle with his own pride is noticeable in the curve of his shoulders—tensed, uncomfortable for once. They relax.

“Of course.” 

Almost immediately, she scoots over, opening up a space for the bat. The wings will probably be a pain, but they’ll make it work. She needs him. For the first time, she truly needs him.

It takes them far too long to find a comfortable position, but in the end, it’s the most content she’d ever been. Tear tracks still stain her cheeks, but the onslaught has stopped and her breathing has nearly evened. 

Her fingers comb through his long hair, smoothing it with little more than absent-mindedness. His arms wrap around her middle, wings fanned out above them. The talons are hooked around the bedposts, keeping them from actually touching the bed. She’s tempted to run a finger down the membrane, just to see the reaction, but she knows better. 

It’s not long before she feels the change in his breathing against her neck, slowing and elongating. Still, she continues to run her fingers through the strands, waiting patiently for her heartbeat to finally settle. 

He’ll be there when she wakes up. 

It’s that thought that allows her to finally close her eyes and succumb to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> sneak peek of next time:  
> “Let’s get through tonight, because this dress might not.” He replies, her toes curling in her shoes at his words.
> 
> -
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


End file.
